When the April wind wakes the call for the soil, I hold the plough as my only hold upon the earth, and, as I follow through the fresh and fragrant furrow, I am planted with every foot-step, growing, budding, blooming into a spirit of spring.
~ Dallas Lore Sharp, 1870-1929
It’s a fine spring day here in the Bogs. The birds are singing, the sun is shining, and buds, blossoms, and flowers are popping up all over the place. The maple trees are bursting with these pink fuzzy things (flowers? seeds?), making them look as though they are flowering.